You Know My Name
by BeatleLOVE
Summary: John has given Jessica hell since they were kids, but he's also hidden a secret for that long. Jess has always been a "lover" not a "fighter," John being the only exception. When put together what chaos unfolds? Based on poems I've written.
1. Chapter 1: Bad Boy

**A/N: Hello, hello! (: Here's a story I've been writing for a _long_ while, but just found it in an old notebook. It shocked me how similar it was to _CrazyCatie_'s "I'm A Loser," which I've just had the privilege to read. Believe me, I didn't steal the idea from her! I swear people hack into my head sometimes O.o Either way, these are based off of poems that I've written for the past... year? or so. Eh, whatever. Either way, enjoy and RnR!**

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**Chapter 1: Bad Boy**

"Go away."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'm gonna punch your pretty little face in."

"Aw, ya think I'm pretty? Thanks, love, but sadly I can't say the same for yerself."

"Die Lennon. Rot in hell."

"I'd rather not."

"I hate you."

"That's nice."

"Ugh! You're such an arrogant prick!"

"Yep."

"Omigod just eff off!" I glare at him, threatening him with my pencil. "I'll use it. It's deadly."

"Hm, a pencil. Whacha gonna do, erase me?"

"If only, if only… Why can't you just leave me _alone_ for once? Give me back the little bit of peace that I'm allowed to have in this hell of a world."

"Sadly, love, that isn't half as fun. Torturing ya is much more entertainin'."

"_Life_ is torture."

"Well that makes me job all the more easier then, doesn't it?"

"Again: I hate you."

"Again: That's nice," he mocks me.

"Ugh, you're impossible!"

"I know." Oh, how I hate that smirk of his. We've been going at it for the past twenty minutes. When I had walked into my creative writing class at the beginning of the school year, I had expected a fun, easy, carefree class. Instead I got John Lennon.

Said offender had given me hell since third grade. Being tall and the only girl that could kick arse at kickball, ya think I'd be best mates with all the guys. You'd think wrong. Lennon always found _something_ to make fun of no matter _who_ his victim was. He'd probably make fun of his best mate if it made the others laugh. Stupid backstabbing git.

Back to creative writing. So here I am, stuck next to my arch nemesis in a class that I had originally thought I'd enjoy, passing time be arguing with this complete moron about how much I hate him and how I'll kill him. I sit, anxiously awaiting to be assigned my partner for end of the year final project, even though it's barely mid-year.

_Please, oh please, oh **please**__ not him. _I keep my fingers crossed under my desk. After what seems like an eternity, the teacher finally posts our partners on the wall. I run straight for it and wrestle my way through the mass of teenage bodies to the front. I quickly skim the list and when I see _Lennon_ over _Lewis_ my heart momentarily stops. It takes me a moment to comprehend that partners are posted _next to_ each other, not above. _Oh, thank god…_

Instead of being paired with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I get a very normal girl by the name of Amber Greene. She's not really much to look at. I've never spoken to her, but she seems nice enough. Nicer than Lennon, that is.

I gratefully reseat myself next to her and wait for the teacher to explain the actual project. He eventually comes forward.

"You'll be writing a story or a collection of poems on a topic of your choice. It must consist of at least two pages, typed, with no double spaces, and have an illustration to accompany it. Both of you must work together _equally_ on this. I suggest you all start working immediately."

"Any ideas?" I turn to Amber.

She shrugged. _Wow, not very exciting, are ya?_

"Um, poem or story?" _That's it, keep the conversation flowing._

"I don't care."

"Well _you're_ just the life of the party, aren't ya?" I mutter. This is gonna be harder than I'd thought. Then again, my first thoughts never seem to turn out right, do they?

Ten minutes have passed and I've only managed to get her to say a total of six more words: "Whatever," another "I don't care," and "You choose." Though her and Lennon do the exact opposite, the annoys me almost as much as he does. And that takes quite a lot.

"Screw it!" I throw my hands in the air. "We're never gonna even _start_ this!"

"Amen."

"You shush. You seem not to have a problem with _that._" I glare at the unenthusiastic form.

She shrugs again. _Is that the only movement you can make?_

I scan the not-so-crowded room. None of my—well, can you call them friends? I occasionally hang out with them, but we've never actually gotten to _know_ each other, ya know? Either way, there are absoutely none of my aquaintances (yeah, that fits better) there to save me.

I sigh in exasperation and defeat. This is gonna be a hell of a time trying to complete this project. A loud, familiar _RIIINNGGGG!_ Interrupts my sulking. Has it already been an hour?

Walking out of class, I feel someone continually pushing and prodding me forward. I'd thought (oh, here we go again, me and thinking…) that it was just one of my other classmates, but no, it just has to be _him._

I come to a complete stop, causing the taller person to run into me. "I said to leave me alone, jerk."

"I know ya did, but that doesn't mean I have t'listen."

"Like you ever will."

"Exactly, now yer getting' t'know me!"

"There's not much to know."

"Ey, don't be harsh, love. I'm plenty deep."

"If it's Opposite Day in Stupid Land, or your definition of 'deep' is 'shallow,' then you'd be correct for once." I swiftly walk away, trying to avoid another confrontation.

…

Sitting in my next class with nothing else to do, I pull out my "Creative Writing Daily Notebook." That stupid teacher had assigned this to us at the beginning of the year. We're supposed to write a daily poem expressing our thoughts and feelings, supposedly to "keep our creative juices flowing."

To my great annoyance and disappointment, my mind draws blank. I'm a great poet when the mood strikes me, but I just can't come up with something on the spot. Hense the very few entries. I sit here staring blanky at the bare pages for the rest of the period.

...

I do hope you realise

Just how much I dispise

You, being whom I hate

I hold only distaste.

**A/N: So whaddya think? Do ya love it? Hate it? Well, why not tell me in a REVIEW then? (: **


	2. Chapter 2: Don't Bother Me

**A/N: Seriously, when I read "I'm A Loser," I spazzed O.o It totally blew my mind... Just sayin' P: ENJOY!**

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Chapter 2: Don't Bother Me**

"Jessicaaaa…" A french fry flies at my face.

I ignore the irksome voice and try to finish writing my newest entry. Surprisingly, John is quite a good topic for my poems. They're a great way to vent my hatred.

"Jeeesssiiiiccaaaaaa…" This time two projectiles find their target, followed by snickering from the next table. I brush them away, tring to pretend that they don't bug me.

"Jesss…iiiii…caaaaaa!" A handful of the accursed things cascade over my head.

My head flies back. I've had enough of this shit. "What do you want, Lennon!" I don't give a damn that french fries are dangling from my hair or that people are staring at me like I'm a lepur or something. "What could _possibly_ be that Damn. Important that you _had_ to get my attention!"

"I. Want. To. Say. Two. Things." He draws out every word, then pauses.

"WHAT ALREADY!" I'm so close to spontaneously combusting, I'm amazed my hair isn't aflame.

"One: hi. And two—"

I don't give him time to finish his second point. I stand up, walk over to him, dump my uneaten lunch on his head, and march out the lunchroom doors as dignified as I can manage, which isn't much.

_I hate him, I hate him, I **hate**__ him!_ I hate what he does to me. I'm usually the peace-maker. Ya know, the "lover" not the "fighter?" John Lennon is the only exeption to that He knows _exactly_ how to get under my skin and makes it his goal to do it every chance he gets. So far he has succeeded.

I sit down with my back against a column. "I hope he enjoys smelling like a salad," I mumble to myself with a satisfied grin. "He'll smell like one all day. Serves him right, the stupid arse." I stay there, smirking for a couple of minutes.

"Ey, sorry 'bout that back there, he's a real mixer, ya know." I spin around and find myself face-to-face with Lennon's bug-eyed friend, crouching down to my eye-level. He grins at me, probably thinking that he's just so freaking _adorable _with those insane eyes of his. Another arrogant pig.

"It's not _you_ I want to apologize, but it's not like _he_ ever will. He enjoys giving me hell."

Eye-boy chuckles, which pisses me off even more.

"What in hell is so damn funny!"

"You still have french fries in yer hair." He picks one off my head and flicks it away.

I stare at him blankly, unable to respond. How can he turn something so infuriating into something _funny! _Then again, he _is_ Lennon's best mate.

"Well, can't ye talk now? You were screaming back in the lunchroom, now what's gone on?" His eyes look so innocent now, it's almost cute. Too bad for him, being friends with John totally kills it. Oh, well.

"I…uh…um…oh, shit." No possible reply pops into my head. _Goddammit._

"Yes?"

"Um… Why exactly do you hang with him?"

"Becaue he's my best mate of course! Isn't that obvious?"

"I know that. I mean _why?_ Like why would _anyone _even _want_ to be around him? I can't stand him!"

"Well of course _you_ can't!"

I glare at him suspiciously. "And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothin', nothin' at all!" he holds his hands up, signaling his innocence. _Yeah, **he's**__ innocent, my arse._ "I just meant that you're the one he loves to piss off. There's no way you'd like him."

"Mhmm…" I still don't believe him. He's one of _them_, and they always have underlying meanings to what they say. Freaking sneaks.

He rolls his humungous eyes, and sticks his hand out to me. "Want any help up?"

I stare at it for a while, contemplating whether I should take his hand or not. I sigh and grab it. "I'm Jessica."

"I know," he smiles. "I'm Paul. Paul McCartney."

"Oh, cool." Why do things always get awkward? I can't help that I don't know what to say…

Thankfully the bell intrrupts our very awkward moment. "I guess I'll se ya later?" I mumble, already walking away.

"Oh, um, bye?" His face scrunches up in a confused expression as he calls after me.

…

"Do you _have_ to do that?" I glare at the boy's tapping fingers. He's always fidgeting.

"Well, yes. Yes I do." He continues just because he knows that it annoys me. Oh, how I hate him.

"_Why _do I have to sit next to _you_ of all people?" My head falls into my hands. _Another_ day in creative writing.

"Ye ask that _every_day."

"With good reason. Who hates me enough to place me next to you? Well… besides _you._"

He shrugs. For once he has nothing to say. _Okay, what the hell is going on?_

I repeatedly poke him on the shoulder until he looks at me. "What?" he sneers. The way his eyes harden almost shuts me up. _Almost._

"Well, someone's bipolar today. Is little Johnny PMS-ing?"

"F*ck off." He swats my hand away and scoots farther from me.

"Whoa, language. What's got your knickers in a twist?" I gotta admit, Lennon pissed is really entertaining. He's such a little bitch.

"I said f*ck off."

"Okay, okay. God, you're pissy."

His glare forewarns me to leave him alone for now. Throughout the period I watch him and his little habits. Like how his nostrils flare and his lips scowl slightly. Or the way he rapidly taps fingers on the desk, still to my great annoyance. Though something is obviously on his nerves, I really don't give a damn. All I can focus on now is that damned tapping.

…

I don't care

I don't know

I don't want

I don't show

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**A/N: Guess what? REVIEW, that's what! (: Ya heard me! Now do it! Submit to my mind control! BWAHAHA!**


	3. Chapter 3: I'm Down

**A/N: Sorry, I've been nervous to update this one because of the drama, ya know? Not complaining 'bout it, I just don't want it to happen again… No one likes drama, right? Okay, I'm done with that. Now, ONWARD! TO THE STORY!**

**Chapter 3: I'm Down**

It's been three days and Lennon _still_ hasn't talked to me. Normally this'd be heaven and I wouldn't complain, but now all he does is write in a notebook (I tried to read it once; he's never terrified me more) and glare at the wall. It's really starting to piss me off.

"Okay," I sigh in defeat. "Are you mad about the salad-dumping?" He continues scribbling in his notebook, seemingly deaf. "John… Joohhhnnn… _John!_"

He snaps out of his daze and glares at me. Without words he says, "What the eff do you want?" Of course it's not the abbreviation, but I try to be less vulgar than him.

"Did my little stunt on Monday really make you _that_ mad? Because if it did, then really Lennon, you're losing your touch."

"Why in hell would _you_ care?"

"Because frankly, you annoy the hell out of me with your constant sulking. It's almost worse than the normal you."

He turns back around, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles are white. _Why hasn't he responded?_ Normally he'd go off on someone or at least _hit_ them (not that I want him to do either), but he's holding back. _What could make Little Miss Sunshine over here act different? Maybe I'll ask Paul…_

I look up to see Amber towering over me. "The-"

"The project, I know." For the first time this week she's actually approached me _first_. Everyone seems to be acting funny today… I glance over at John. _Nope, there's no chance he's gonna move._ I sigh and pick up my stuff. _Here comes another hour of hell…_

…

"Okay, what's his problem?" This time it's _him_ that turns around, surprised.

"Well, I'd assume he just has it out fer ya."

"No! It's the exact opposite! He hasn't insulted me at _all_ for the past week!" I throw my hands in the air.

"And that's a _bad_ thing?" He looks at me with those huge eyes like I'm mental.

"Because he's… he's… Oh lord, I don't know! It's just really friggin annoying!"

Paul looks at me like I'm insane. "Wait, let me get this straight. Yer mad. Because he's _not _bein' an ass. What, are ye wrong in the head?" He jokingly taps his knuckles on my head.

"Stop it!" I snap. "He's just… I don't know. I _just_ got used to him and now he changes! He's doing this just to spite me, I know it."

"Okay, one, I thought ye didn't know and two, don't get hung up about it. He's goin' trough some family crap; he'll be back to normal in no time."

I silence the words about to come out. Family crap? Oh, I know that _all_ too well. "O-oh… well, hurry him up then! I'm 'bout ready to slap him outta his sulking myself."

"He was right, you _are_ a feisty one."

I give him a tired glare. "Oh, don't even go there, McCartney."

He grins in reply. How such a nice, if somewhat annoying at times, guy could be friends with Lennon, I'll never know. "Yeah, I know I'm adorable."

"What a cliché thing for you to say."

"Maybe, but you know it's true."

"Whatever you say, Paul."

…

No matter what you think

No matter what you say

No matter time or place

I'll hate you anyway

**A/N: Okay, okay, okay, yeah, I know that poem sucked. And the chapter's hella short. But I have reasons! Well, actually it's mainly because my friends are trying to drag me out of the house because it's spring break... I really have nothing else to do except do as they wish and go shopping and flirt with random unsuspecting guys. (Doesn't sound much fun to me.) Oh well, I guess I'll see ya'll soon, guys! Review (: No flames T_T *threatening glare* I hate flames. Okay, now that that's said, adios! Au revoir! Aloha! (:**


	4. Chapter 4: UPDATE

**A/N: Hey Beatle people! No, this isn't a new chappie. It's an update :/ Sorry! But it's something you guys need to know. I, with the help of the wonderful HumongousBagOfCashews, am going to be re-doing this story (: So...YEAH. Carn't think of anything else to say at this point XD I'm gonna be updating the story in...a week from now. See ya! :3**


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